Signs You Might Be The Parent Of A One Year Old

  • You can’t say the words “cracker,” “apple,” or “banana.” She hears the mere suggestion of these treats and suddenly she is hungry and only one thing will do.
  • You spend 50% of your day crawling, either on your knees or a bear crawl. Just me?  It makes Wee One shriek with laughter, and has become my go-to tantrum diffuser.
  • “We don’t eat off the floor.” Is a statement that comes out of your mouth several times a day, as you scramble to pick up the scraps she just dumped off her plate and is bending over to eat. She won’t eat it off the plate, but from the floor, it’s awesome.
  • If you leave her field of vision for a short length of time, chances are good you have started a game of peek-a-boo. Sometimes I’m not paying attention, and I realize WO is giggling at me and hiding behind her hand, and I feel guilty for not noticing sooner and letting her hang. Fortunately, she’s forgiving about my lapse and her laugh is so gleeful when we play.
  • You find a small hand creeping down your shirt multiple times a day. I think that’s just for breastfed babies and – what? It doesn’t stop at one year? I heard about this, but it is starting to get to the point that when she’s upset, she doesn’t need to nurse, she just needs to reassure her they’re there. Then I can say “cracker” and she’s not upset anymore.

She’s the best.

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Inspiration taken from Things Anxious Mom Said. See what she put!

Weekend Coffee Share #22

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If we were having coffee, you would wander in slowly. You had a rough night last night, but a lot of fun. I was happy to hear details about your trip to a party your husband’s coworker threw, and I was happy to get you a coffee. And speaking of party, 

If we were having coffee, I would remind you of those guys who were barbecuing last weekend and had the loud party and woke me up… I saw one of them do something yesterday that really bothered me.  They were playing with the neighbor’s kids again, water fights, but it was almost all the kids in the apartment complex having a water fight with these guys. The thing is, there are like five of these guys and some are better than others. On the good end, one is patient and kind to the kids, helping them out even as they were “adversaries,” talking friendly smack. On the bad end, they were cursing at the kids and bullying them.

There was one girl in particular; and I’ve seen her around for awhile. She’s not as liked as the other girls, though I know she wants to be. She’s the tallest and she’s Indian, to name just a few differences, and it’s hard to be different.

One of the guys was bitching her out for being rough with a younger kid. She was trying to apologize, talk to the younger kid and trying to take responsibility, but this asshole wouldn’t stop badgering her. He was actually cussing at her. He’s a grown ass man, getting into the kid’s stuff, and bullying her.

I was disgusted and also a little convicted – should I do something, I wondered? I was bullied as a kid, even by some adults. Would I have wanted intervention? I didn’t end up doing anything, though I did get the Wee One out of there. I didn’t want her seeing such crap. I know I can’t spare her from it forever, but I’ll probably try.

If we were having coffee, I would tell you that the crochet project I am working on is not coming along like I had hoped. I am not able to crochet as often as I would like, with the Wee One. I’m afraid my friends won’t let me sell anything with them. Maybe I will just give The baby her own ball of yarn to play with-like a cat.

You giggle, and then you wince. Yeah, I’ve been there.

If we were having coffee, I would tell you how, on Saturday night, I was kind of hoping those guys, the bullies, would again throw a party so loud I could call the cops. Cohiba said “You’re in the ‘I wish a motherfucker would’ mode.”  

Oh yeah, and that  night, after we left dinner, I had black beans smeared by my ear-the Wee One is beginning to leave a trail behind her wherever she goes. I had trusted food on the front of my shirt, because she puts her open mouth on my chest. (Wanting to nurse) My kid is subtle.